


Irresistible Force

by sffan



Series: Physics [1]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:17:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7525222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sffan/pseuds/sffan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aya finds Yohji cat-napping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irresistible Force

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is from a previous archive, written between 2002 and 2008. No additional changes or edits have been made since it’s original posting date and none will be.  
> 
> Original Notes:  
> Inspired by hours and hours of WK smut reading. This series is going to be loaded with clichés.

“Aya, could you go get Yohji?” Omi asks, stirring a pot. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Ken slips past him with an armload of plates and utensils and starts setting the table. Aya grumbles, “If Yohji can’t drag his lazy ass out of bed for dinner, maybe he deserves to miss it.”

“Ayyya,” Omi admonishes, “be nice, he was out late last night gathering information.”

Aya snorts. Right. Information gathering. That’s why he had shown up at 4 am reeking of liquor and cheap perfume.

“So that’s what they’re calling it these days,” Ken says with a grin.

“Ken!” Omi exclaims. Ken just laughs and keeps setting the table. “Aya, please?” Omi asks.

Aya sighs and puts down his teacup. Omi smiles at him as he heads for the stairs. “Thank you, Aya-kun,” he says sweetly.

Aya takes the stairs two at a time and soon he’s poised outside of Yohji’s half-open door. He steps into the room.

“Yoh…” The name dies on his lips as his eyes are caught by the image before him. Fast asleep, Yohji lays sprawled across the bed on his back, clad in nothing but a tiny pair of hip-hugging briefs, a sunbeam cutting a swath of bright light across his middle. His honey-coloured hair falls around his sharp face in soft waves, making him look deceptively innocent.

Without even realizing it, Aya moves towards the bed. He looks down at the sleeping form with a soft look on his face that none of his team mates would recognize. He eases down onto the edge of the bed, taking care not to disturb Yohji.

Slowly, he reaches out and strokes the smooth skin of Yohji’s stomach with the tips of his fingers. He traces the curves of the hard abdominal muscles with a feather-light caress, skims over the tiny indentation of the navel, and follows the very faint trail of light blond hair downward to the edge of the briefs. Aya follows the material up and over the hard jut of Yohji’s hip bone and then trails his fingers back across Yohji’s stomach.

Cat-like, the sleeping man arches slightly into his hand when he lays it flat on the sun-warmed skin. Aya watches his hand as it traces the same pattern as his fingertips. Aya’s palm is ghosting over Yohji’s navel when he notices the change in breathing and his hand stops. Aya turns his head and is speared by half-lidded, sleepy green eyes.

“Aya?”

Aya tries to jerk his hand away, but even half-asleep, Yohji is fast enough to catch him by the wrist and hold his hand firmly in place. Not looking at Yohji, Aya says in a cold, emotionless voice, “Omi sent me. It’s time for dinner.”

The body under his hand shifts as Yohji sits up. Aya desperately ignores how much lower his hand has drifted as his fingertips brush fabric. Part of Yohji’s chest is now pressed against him and he can feel the heat of the other man’s bare skin through his thin shirt. “Aya,” Yohji says in a soft voice. Aya sits stiffly, staring at the wall.

“Aya,” Yohji says again, this time a little more firmly. “Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Aya turns his head and looks at Yohji, expecting a smug smirk. There isn’t one. Instead there is a gentle smile. Aya looks back at Yohji in confusion.

“Aya,” Yohji says as his free hand comes up to brush lightly against Aya’s cheek. “It’s okay.”

Aya tries not to lean into the hand on his face, but fails miserably. “Yoh…” he starts to whisper, but his words are cut off by Yohji’s lips. A quiet sound, more a whimper than a moan escapes his lips when Yohji’s hand drifts into his hair. The kiss is slow and tender, a simple press of lips on lips that makes Aya’s heart pound. And when it ends, Aya says the first thing that pops into his head.

“Omi’s going to come looking for us, if we don’t get downstairs soon.”

Yohji smiles at him and gives one of his ear tails a gentle tug. “You’d better head on down, then,” Yohji says as he releases Aya’s wrist.

Aya bolts up off the bed, when he reaches the door, Yohji says in a sultry voice, “Tell Omi I’ll be there in a few minutes. I have something I have to take care of first.”

Aya feels the blush bloom on cheeks as he leaves the room.


End file.
